There must have been something in the stout that night. Whether the doing of the brewer or the barman, a special sprinkle of this and that must have graced the pint glass. Or maybe I’m not giving enough credit to Riyad Mahrez; perhaps there was something in the way he so blithely stroked the ball into the Club Brugge net as I looked on that lit the cartoon lightbulb of inspiration.

Perhaps it was a concerted effort between the two: Mahrez and Murphy's, what Cupid would line the tip of his arrows with, were he in the business of inspiring ideas and not matchmaking. Whatever it was, as I sat there on that Wednesday night nursing a pint of the cat's cream and appreciating the slim-limbed genius of the Leicester midfielder, a thought hit me. Alex Murphy, the star of the Irish cocaine caper, The Young Offenders – his brother is an old school-friend of mine. The film was about to come out and the critical response had been overwhelmingly positive – an interview would be a huge coup.

A few messages to and fro later and I had my interview. Coincidence of coincidences, I was on my way to see the film when Alex so kindly agreed to it, so when I approached the box office at the cinema, I did so with a twerpy smile. The sort of smile that had I let it, would be followed by "Two tickets for the Young Offenders, please – do you have a special rate for those in Alex's inner circle? A confidante concession, perhaps?" There's a certain giddiness you get when you secure your first big interview, you see; a giddiness joined at the hip to what I call the "Billy Big Bollocks" feeling. Cock of the walk, like.

Needless to say, there was real enjoyment in the cashier’s eyes when he told me the film wasn’t out yet. Cock of the walk, indeed.

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